I’ve always been jealous of the life she had. It was a life that I could have only dreamed of.
I even wanted her struggle. She is strong and she is power. She is hard and she is guarded.
I know now that it is foolish to go forward looking for her experiences and settling for my own.
I no longer want to settle, I want to rejoice in the magic of my own journey.
I have never been my mother, nor will I ever be. I can only hope to be.
But everything she has done has allowed me to become fat with privilege and opportunity.
Travel takes control away from us, exposing our weakest points. We are acutely aware of our vulnerability. We are naive, unaccustomed, unacquainted, unversed. We are ignorant, roaming in the darkness of the unfamiliar. We are lonely, lost, disoriented. Travel pushes us across the chasm. We are moved to explore the mysterious, to confront our fear, to venture beyond the challenging, cryptic crevasses of our path.
You cannot begin to understand what you’ve done…
On a pedestal you stood
I placed you in this sacred place
A place where more respect could not be given.
Among Marquez, Vonnegut, and Hemingway you stood.
I placed you there.
But your almost false words weigh heavy
Driven by curiosity and desires for the experiences.
No one could touch you before
But now you’ve become a man among idols.
Foreign lands never yield their secrets to a traveller. The best they offer are tantalising snippets, just enough to inflame the imagination. The secrets they do reveal are your own - the ones you have kept from yourself. And this is reason enough to travel, to leave home.
What I wouldn’t give to have him look into my eyes. To feel his strong hands holding me. Taking the world away. What I wouldn’t give for you.